


Banky's Night Out

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Askewniverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-12
Updated: 2006-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-25 06:49:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1637384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Story by resolute</p><p>After the events of Chasing Amy, Banky Edwards looks for new direction and finds Hooper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Banky's Night Out

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Amblypygid for the beta!
> 
> Written for Troll Princess

 

 

Banky Knows What It's All About

It was all about the pussy. Chasing it. Getting it. Keeping it. Ever since Banky's balls dropped he knew pussy ruled the world.

That's why fags made him so crazy. Why didn't they know? How did they get out of it? Didn't they know it was all about the pussy? Fucking fags. There they were, with slick dicks and tight balls and firm round asses, and they totally ignored the pussy. Fucking fags.

Banky didn't have any women friends. No fucking way. It was impossible. Women, see, wanted you to ignore the pussy until the pussy wanted you. How could he be expected to not think about pussy? But that's what they wanted. Be all buddy until the pussy called. Then it was all, attention, soldier! Rise and shine! Take out the trash, admire fucking shoes, talk about Julia fucking Roberts, oh, and, by the way, be a solid fuck-rod at a moment's notice.

After some serious rug-munching, of course. The pussy's gotta be happy before there's room for Mr. Dick. That's what he always said, didn't he? _It'd be different if chicks helped out, pointed a guy in the right direction. Then there'd be no bullshit, no wasted time, and no chance for, you know, permanent injuries._ That's what he told Holden. Pussy took so much goddam time. So much time.

Holden used to tease Banky. Back, before. Back when they were partners, about not keeping a girlfriend. Holden never understood. Banky didn't want to keep them. Keep them, god! Too much fucking work. And the drama! The goddam drama. The guessing, and the fucking games. Banky was tired of games. Holden had tried to cut the games out, cut out the drama with him and Alyssa. But . . . it just didn't work. Maybe it was because Banky and Holden weren't fags. Maybe it was because there was pussy involved. Banky was betting it was the pussy.

Which brought him here.

Banky looked around the bar. Bar. Bottles. Dance floor. Lights, music, smell of beer and choking cigarette smoke. If he squinted -- and to be honest, Banky was doing a lot of squinting after all those beers -- it looked like any other club. But once he focused he could see. Wall-to-wall guys. Not a pussy in sight. Well, maybe those dudes against the wall were chicks. But that barely counted. Here was about as pussy-free a place as you could get. Here, dick was king. _All any woman wants, be it mother, senator, nun, is some serious deep dicking. That's why I can't buy lesbians. Everyone needs dick. I can buy fags, a buncha guys that need dick. Just plain need it, that I get._ That's what he told Holden. Everyone needs dick.

He'd tried so hard. He'd watched Holden's back, looked out for his best interests. He'd held Holden's needs at the front, kept his needs second. All Banky had really wanted was for Holden to get what he wanted. He saw that now. Now that it was entirely too late.

Banky finished his latest beer and pushed off his barstool. Time to get this over with.

He walked, with only a bit of weaving, out to the dance floor. Near the edge was the guy he'd picked. A small guy, mesh shirt and short shorts. Banky was pretty sure it'd be okay to get a blow job from this guy. A little hose cleaning, that was barely gay anyway, right? Right.

"Hey, dude," Banky offered, tapping the guy on the shoulder.

The young man turned. "Hey, `sup?"

"So, you wanna go suck my cock?" Banky said. Well. Maybe yelled. It was kinda loud in here. "Honestly, it's not too big, just sorta fat, but you have great girl-lips so I think you'll do fine!"

The man stopped dancing. "What?"

Banky staggered, leaning in. "Do you wanna suck my cock, dude! Chance of a lifetime!"

The guy looked over his shoulder at his friends. He turned back to Banky. "You're drunk, man! Fuck off!" he shouted over the music.

Banky blinked. Mr. Mesh Shirt had turned back to his friends, he was dancing. What the hell? Cock was on offer here, was that not clear? Didn't fags go for dick the way regular guys went for pussy? What the fuck?

Banky stood at the edge of the floor, pondering. When Mr. Mesh danced by again Banky leaned out to tap him on the shoulder. The fucker must've moved, because Banky slipped a little and grabbed the guy's shirt. The shirt, which was clearly some shoddy-ass third-world-made piece of shit fagwear, might've torn a bit. Fuck, how could you tell with mesh, anyway?

Mr. Mesh spun and saw Banky. Hands on hips, Mr. Mesh waved a hand over his shoulder at his friends. "Baby, this bitch just ripped my shirt! What are you gonna do about it, huh?"

"Bitch?" Banky repeated, astonished. Did this fag just call him a bitch? "Did you call me a bitch?" Banky turned to face Mr. Mesh but was startled by the expanse of army-green tank top standing in front of him. Banky leaned back slightly to take in the sight before him. Army tank. Black leather pants. Knee-high shiny black boots. Banky looked up. Mr. Army was scowling. Big and scowling.

"Move along, bitch," Mr. Army mumbled.

"My friend," Banky replied, "only in the depths of your slow and stagnant imagination am I your bitch, bitch."

Mr. Army never got to say whatever thrilling retort was on his mind. Banky was momentarily confused as the ceiling dipped down at him, perspective crazy-tilted in a spinning arc of frames. Panels, he saw the panels of the art as the angles tilted. Banky snorted and giggled. It looked like he was in a comic. He pawed at something, the weight on his shoulders.

"So this is where you've been hiding your cracker-ass, chile!" The voice in his ear matched the arm around his shoulders and Banky realized blearily what had happened. Hooper. Hooper had his arm slung around Banky and was fagging it up. Hooper leaned forward, placing one finger on Mr. Army's enormous pecs. "You'll excuse us, Mr. Thang, and I'll just take my friend outside."

Banky stumbled as Hooper swung him around. There was some maneuvering, some ramming into tables and low walls with his hip bones. Banky was sure there'd be bruises. He was a little surprised to see the front door, and balked. "Nuh-uh, Hoop, I'm not through. Business to conduct, you know?" He tried to pull out of Hooper's grip and got tangled in his own shirtsleeve.

"Oh no," Hooper said, "Banky-boy, you are leaving right this minute." Hooper grabbed Banky's ear and pulled.

"Ow!"

"Hush your mouth, bitch," Hooper said, "you done ruined my night. Saving your skinny white ass from the beating you richly deserve."

Banky didn't exactly remember the cab ride home. But then Hooper was pulling at him, again. Mighty strong for a skinny little geek fag, Banky noticed. And then they were up, and up some stairs, and then, oh thank you god, Hooper pushed Banky down onto a couch. Banky slid sideways. Maybe this was a bed. There was a damn soft pillow under his cheek.

Something pulled at his feet. Banky groaned. "C'mon, m'n, le'me'lone. `S time t' sleep."

"Huh-uh, my inebriated friend. Let's get at those shoes," Hooper replied.

Banky peered up at Hooper. The slight man sat on the edge of the, it was a futon, Banky decided. Sat on the edge of the futon and pulled off Banky's shoes. Hooper reached down and pulled out a blanket. He stood and spread the blanket over Banky, tucking it in at the feet and around Banky's shoulders. Banky reached out with one hand and grabbed at the leg of Hooper's pants.

"Hooper."

"Yes?"

Banky sighed. "I don't . . . I don't know what I'm doing, Hoop."

Hooper leaned over an peered at Banky. Banky thought Hoop looked surprised. "Boy, you are sleeping this off on my couch. Then in the morning, after you finish reliving tonight's event at the throne of the porcelain god, you are going to have breakfast with me."

"'S'not what I meant."

"I know." Hooper fussed a bit with the covers. "You can tell me about that in the morning. After the vomit, and over breakfast."

"Thou't this w's e's'er."

"Banky, hon?" Hooper brushed the hair back from Banky's ear and smiled. "There's nothing easy about this." He stood and looked around the room once, a prissy little Mary Poppins in black. "We'll talk in the morning."

Banky wasn't asleep, though, and he heard Hooper's parting comment.

"What I don't know is why you didn't think of me."

 


End file.
